Just once
by stilljustme
Summary: Extended scene from the series' finale: He is a Borgia, he does not ask for forgiveness. Never but this time. Nobody but this man.


The first thing Cesare saw, rousing from restless slumber, was a familiarly raised eyebrow. Approval for the instinct that had put the knife in his hand, so much more experienced in using it than when he had first met the assassin?  
>Or disapproval – disappointment that he still was alive?<p>

He took a deep breath and tried to swallow down both the shame and the wild joy that surged through his body.  
><em>„Micheletto! Where have you been?" <em>

Micheletto's face remained calm as the Tiber. He knew how to read his master, not the other way around.  
><em>"Talking to God."<em>

Cesare bristled. How often had he begged for answers from above in the past few years. It had been a lonely, painful way to accept that there was no god, no heaven, no hell perhaps, which was the good part about it. It was only them, the people, living in here and now. No one else to help him but himself.  
>No one else to judge him.<p>

Still, it filled him with ease to hear that Micheletto, too, had looked for god. More than an excuse for his own wasted prayers, it did good to see they had this in common, after all. "_And what did he say?"_

The assassin's face, if possible, closed up more. "_Nothing._"

Cesare nodded. The blade moved in his hand as he did so, reminding him he still held it. He knew he should put it aside but something warned him, and it hurt to admit that feeling.  
><em>"So you're with me once more?"<em> It should be a casual question, but he saw in the other man's eyes that his talent of disguising was lost on Micheletto. In the past two years, there was nothing Cesare and his servant – friend, he realized, though it seemed to be too late for that now – had not shared. For reasons he couldn't say he trusted this man. With his secrets, his life… even with Lucrezia's life.

Micheletto said nothing, a quietness that spoke as loud as his eyes, avoiding for the first time Cesare's glance. He stood up and went to the table, pointing at the maps.

Cesare followed, the knife dropped at his bed. He might not read much in Micheletto's face, but this answer had been clear even to him.  
>He was not.<br>But he was, right now, and it calmed Cesare to see Micheletto observing his plans, far more than he wished it. Why did it matter so much what this man thought of him? After all, had not one of the first counsels of Micheletto been not to trust anybody?

Yet Cesare did. And as he heard the assassin's plan and felt the warmth of his body from standing so close to him, he realized that once, Micheletto had trusted him, too.  
>And Cesare had betrayed this trust. He had made Micheletto kill the only man he loved.<p>

Out of what? Absent-mindedly Cesare nodded to the information, trying his best to be unreadable. He didn't love Micheletto, not like Lucrezia, not like he had loved Ursula. He had not wanted the spy's death because he had shared Micheletto's bed.  
>But it hadn't been entirely rational thoughts either.<p>

"You should find it. Good luck." His voice steadily flat, Micheletto turned around.  
>Again pure instinct, Cesare took his arm. "<em>You can't just leave again<em>!" Please, he added silently, but this word, like many others, had long stopped getting over his lips.

Micheletto smirked weakly. "_Who's to stop me? You?"  
><em>Cesare swallowed but before he could even in his mind form an answer, Micheletto reached for his hand and moved it from his arm right to his heart.  
>It beat, steadily, firmly, in a wispy but strong chest. Skin layered with kisses five nights ago maybe, before Cesare had forced him to still the breath on those lips.<p>

"_I am dead."_ This time, Micheletto held Cesare's glance, and whether it was the guilt he saw there or the memory of their work together, for a moment his expression seemed to soften.  
><em>"Goodbye, Cesare Borgia." <em>

Spellbound by the world that was just about to collapse around him Cesare could only nod as his former truest companion turned around.

He deserved to be alone, left by all of them. He needed no God to tell him that.  
>Cesare closed his eyes. Was it this? Did hell exist, after all, that so close to his greatest triumph he must lose his only friend?<p>

"Forgive me, Micheletto!" It was half cry, half begging, and before he knew it himself Cesare Borgia found himself on his knees.  
>Micheletto's eyes turned big with surprise, but now Cesare saw the emptiness in them, shallow ponds where once had been seas of passion.<p>

It was too late. Micheletto had not lied to him. He was dead. Either way, if he would challenger Rufio or fight at Cesare's side or just turn into the woods on his own, he would die. Soon.  
>He was already dead.<p>

Micheletto put his hands on Cesare's shoulders. "Stand, my lord. You have an army to command."  
>Cesare obeyed. Suddenly his army didn't seem important anymore. What was Catarina Sforza? One day she would be dead as well.<p>

For the last time, Micheletto seemed to read his former master's mind. "You have a family to protect, and soldiers to lead. Don't expect to find peace once you've won. You are not a man for peace."  
>"Forgive me." He had not wanted to repeat his plea, but he couldn't help it.<br>Micheletto took a deep breath. "Cesare –"  
>"I wish I could promise you I will burn in hell" Cesare spluttered from clenched teeth, "but there is no hell. There is no God, you and I know that. We have this world. And I had a friend in this world."<br>He bit his lips and looked down. He could say no more, and it would not change a thing.

"So had I." Micheletto's hands left his shoulders, and for a second Cesare staggered. Then he stood up. He had an army to command. He was the leader of the papal army, here to conquer a traitorous woman.  
>More than that, he was a Borgia. He would never go weak.<p>

Micheletto lifted the corners of the carpet that closed the tent.  
>"Maybe there is a god, and we will meet in hell. If not…" He shook his head.<p>

"I forgive you, my lord."


End file.
